John walked briskly towards the supermarket, coat collar turned up against the drizzling rain. A surge of wind ripped a woman's umbrella from her grasp across the street and carried it away to some predetermined destination.

A series of clicks issued from his pocket. He stopped under the shelter of a covered window and pulled out his cell phone, expecting Sherlock and, subsequently, rolled his eyes once the sender was confirmed. He opened the message.

John, a most interesting series of events has unfolded. You recall the plethora of chemicals discovered in the Comwell estate and my endeavors to create a drug similar to the murderer's which would produce a 'sleeping death'. It so happens that while I intended to test a possible concoction for immediate results I have created a powerful aphrodisiac.

John's blank expression gradually changed from surprise to mild shock, lingered in amusement for a millisecond and finally arrived at its destination of barely repressed horror. Curiously, his bags were checked in a mental picture of an aroused Sherlock.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his head of those particular images, John returned his attention to his phone.

Sherlock, what the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself KILLED

He pocketed the phone and continued towards his original destination. Apparently, Sherlock had abandoned his attempts to tweak his chemical ratio, signaled by another series of clicks from John's pocket.

Please, I am a proficient chemist. However, there are more pressing matters to discuss. John… I need you.

A spluttering John Watson could only stare at his phone. Surely Sherlock couldn't be serious. There was no denying that John found the man physically attractive, but he had always seemed the type to be absorbed in his work. As a matter of fact, that was what he had been forcibly led to believe that fateful evening. Apparently, his 'wife' couldn't satisfy those particular needs. Speaking of women—

The phone issued a series of impatient clicks.

Instead of standing in the rain debating my previous statements, understand that I find you sexually appealing. Extremely. Sexually. Appealing. It would be in both of our interests if you forwent the shopping and come home to me. Immediately.

John began typing a reply, but Sherlock's disgruntled continuation beat him to it.

What followed sent John turning on his heel and practically running to 221B Baker Street.

The door slammed open and a panting John stood in the doorway, ripping off his jacket, pale cheeks flushed a brilliant red. Sherlock looked up briefly from his microscope, "Ah, John…" He switched slides and moved around the table, mixing an almost neon green liquid.

John's brows knit together as he took in the scene, most noticeably and Immediate to John, the lack of Sherlock's emergency. He stalked closer, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders and pressing him against the nearest wall, physically demanding Sherlock's explanation.

With an innocent smile, Sherlock began, "Mm, right, it seems my theories about you were, as usual, only mostly correct. I need you to run over to Fifth and Corn Street and pick up an ounce of Thiopentone Sodium. Seems it was a major ingredient and our friend hasn't left us enough."

John smiled knowingly at the taller man.

Needless to say, an aphrodisiac wasn't necessary.